People In White
by Phraser
Summary: An ex-accountant and an asylum escapee discuss the significance of schedules.


_**Author's Note:** Although this fan-fiction takes place in The Tick cartoon "universe", there is mentioning of experiences- Albeit highly exaggerated -That are from The Tick comic books. Dr Lovecraft and the Evanston Clinic are not original to the cartoon, but to the comic books; namely The Tick: Luny Bin issues 'zero' to four. ..Not a crossover exactly, but worth mentioning if only to avoid any possible confusion.  
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_**Disclaimer:** All mentioned characters were created by Ben Edlund. ..Sadly, I can claim no real ownership.~  
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* * *

"We need a schedule."

The self-proclaimed arachnid blanched, choked, and spluttered instantaneously, performing a strange bodily symphony of guttural shock and disbelief.

His antennae went stiff and seemed to stand on their bottommost ends. For once and possibly for the very first time ever, the wiggly feelers went perfectly still; twitched not an inch.

Tick's limited brain power struggled to process the idea of Arthur- His wise, sensible Arthur -Uttering such a ridiculously _average_ statement. If the bipedal arachnid wasn't so nigh invulnerable, he was certain that he'd have suffered permanent scarring to the inside of his unnoticeable ears due to the moth man's unreasonable reasoning. As far as the jolly blue giant was concerned, Arthur might as well have uttered the most ugliest of curses, though cursing would certainly have been far less appalling.

It took an agonizingly awkward amount of time and coughing for the no-longer-jolly blue giant to regain what little composure he naturally lacked. Once he did, though, Tick whipped his attention onto the bunny look-alike with enough force to make Arthur flinch back, effectively startled. As Arthur's partner in heroism and widely proclaimed 'BFF', it was the Tick's utmost duty to halt such humdrum babble before it could spread to less tolerant ears. If any other paladin, martyr, vigilante, or really, really great person had heard, Tick was certain that his poor, very much confuzzled Arthur would become an immediate object of ridicule. For the sake of his chum, Tick simply had no other choice but to set him straight. Thus, mustering up more drama power than mere fan-fictional words can describe, he asked Arthur quite bluntly if he was stark ravingly mad.

Now, being the fair and well mannered gentlemoth that he was, Arthur politely took the time to consider Tick's question, giving it more thought than any mentally healthy person probably should. He certainly didn't _feel_ mad. As a matter of utmost factitude, Arthur was more than positive that he felt just the right amount of contentment to make life bearable, if not for feeling a tad bit of concern for his overreacting companion. If his sizable friend had meant 'mad' as in the Mad Hatter sort of way, however, he wasn't so sure anymore. If anything, Arthur was so unbearably sane to the point that it drove him absolutely crazy. Whatever that meant, though, not even the ex-accountant knew for sure. Fortunately for his reasoning, it seemed that no answer was truly required, as Tick was quick to press on with another one of his long-winded rambles.

"Arthur, do you know what you're saying? ..Well, do you, chum? Do you? Do you? Do you?"

"I do."

"Schedules mean order, and order means mundanity, and mundanity means-"

"Nothing, 'cause mundanity isn't a real word." Arthur glanced up at his companion with a mildly accusing quirk of a masked eyebrow. "You just made it up in hopes of sounding like you actually know what you're talking about...which you don't." He announced, finishing off his sentence with a smartening snap of insight. The bunny look-alike had long grown used to his best pal's rather 'inventive' vocabulary, but that certainly didn't stop him from gouging at it with the obsessively critical eye of a high-school English professor. Arthur was clearly the sort of person who took the pronunciation of words quite seriously, ever ready to correct the careless speech of anyone who dare talk within his earshot.

Tick, on the other hand, was not that sort of person. He did not take the sounds and structure of words or the rather constricting rules of grammar all too seriously. Indeed, he much preferred the invigorating freedom of confabulation over being a stuck up grammar Nazi. Unfortunately for Tick, that unwillingness to join the ranks of critical snobitude left him sorely unprepared to defend himself against such a comment. The bodacious bloodsucker paused, his train of thought derailed and leaving him fumbling for a suitable argument against such a pointy, _pointy_ point. When none could be found amongst the mental train wreck, Tick took it personally. He glared at his companion with a gaze so powerful that it shined through the fabric covering his eyes. "Excuse me, Arthur," he started up, indignation running strong within the beat of his tone, "but I wasn't quite finished talking. Please don't interrupt me, it's very rude."

If Arthur's eyes could be seen, he'd be rolling them. Mumbling a quick and far from heartfelt apology, he motioned Tick to continue.

"As I was saying, 'mundanity'- Which is quite certainly a real word, Arthur, though uh.. I don't suggest you go looking it up -Means restrictions. Can you imagine what sort of horrible dullness would befall our daily living if we were to restrict and restrain our very minds?"

The moth man sighed in exasperation, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to relieve the headache that came with having to listen to the self-proclaimed arachnid's ever so warped logic. As far as he was concerned, schedules meant nothing but stability. As an ex-accountant, Arthur couldn't help but value stability- It had kept him that much farther away from drowning under a massive sea of stress and paperwork. Of course, Tick had his own assumptions about his closest companion's oddly placed value in stability; he had long ago convinced himself that the significance of such a concept had been metaphorically beaten into Arthur's squishy little brain with every numerical calculation that he'd ever been trained to perform. Truthfully, though, numbers and calculating came to the bunny look-alike as naturally as breathing. With that being the case, the value of stability probably did, too. Arthur had, after all, been doing his parent's taxes at the age of six.

Although the significance of stability really wasn't metaphorically beaten into Arthur's squishy little brain, Tick refused to (or perhaps just couldn't) bring himself to believe otherwise. It was the big blue gentleman's personal belief that, much like Stockholm syndrome, valuing schedules, stability, and mundanity (ick) was something learned from constant brain-washing and abuse. He really couldn't imagine it any other way. Poor, poor Arthur. Knowing of his companion's unfortunate past that reeked of day-jobs, v-neck sweaters, and normality, Tick could feel nothing short of sympathy for his dear misguided little friend. What an awfully boring life he must have experienced.. It was traumatic thing, really.

"Tick, schedules are useful! Schedules are necessary for the growth of society. They help us manage our time and..." Arthur fumbled for the words to say what he felt must obviously be said for the sake of his confused, possibly delusional friend. "...and our time is our greatest resource! Scheduling it is owning it." The moth man nodded to himself, visibly pleased with his own clever choice of wording. Grinning with pride, he turned to his big blue friend to see how he had taken to his speech; his grin instantly fell from his face at the very sight of Tick's exaggerated expression.

Tick was utterly appalled, and he made that quite obvious.

"Aw, Tick- Quit looking at me like that! I really don't get why you're making such a big deal over this..."

The giant frowned. ..Why _was_ he making such a big deal about this? The answer to that question was most obviously Evanston Clinic. Truth be told, schedules reminded him of his time at that terrible place of his nightmares, more scary than even the horrors of having a day job. Evanston Clinic was the place where everything came together, where his memories began anew. It was the place for people that nobody knows what to do with. It was where everything from the electroshock therapy to the unnecessary sedation was strictly scheduled and enforced by the people in white. To the Tick, schedules didn't just mean order, mundanity, and restrictions; it also meant pain, pain, pain... Of course, he wasn't about to tell Arthur that. He trusted the little moth man, yes, but some memories are best left buried deep and far away at the very back of the mind, perhaps swept under a metaphorical carpet if one be available. If Arthur ever found out about that awful mess of a backstory, well...

Arthur would want to fix things.

Arthur would bring certain things to light.

Arthur might even go so far as to remove that metaphorical carpet and make him remember it all, just like Dr Lovecraft tried to do.

Tick shook his head wildly, antennae spinning from the force like two blue pinwheels, hoping to loosen up such scary thoughts and send them tumbling backwards into whatever crevice of his sticky pink brain they had fallen out of. Not surprisingly, this did little to clear his mind, though it did wonders in making him really, really dizzy.

The bunny look-alike stared at him curiously, his masked eyes wide and overly expectant. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything? An explanation, perhaps?" It wasn't like Tick to throw a fuss and end it abruptly without so much as some sort of closure, typically a hug, though that wasn't always welcomed.

Tick liked closure.

Tick liked to feel secure with his and Arthur's friendship.

Admittedly, so did the moth man, though it didn't look like they'd be patching up anything but their costumes tonight.

Tick merely stared down at his companion, expression quite blank, and shrugged. What could he possibly say? Certainly not the truth. At the same time, the jolly blue giant couldn't quite bring himself to lie to the man he considered to be his roommate, sidekick, and bestest chum in the whole wide world and all of beyond. It was best if he say nothing at all. Again, he shook his head.

"Oh. Well..." Arthur started, his tone thick and heavy with disappointment. "...well, I think we need a schedule!" Here, he looked at Tick with all the expectation of the world, craving, perhaps even needing, a verbal reply.

Still, the blue man offered none.

"And... And..." He swallowed nervously. The bunny look-alike wasn't used to taking charge. What ever happened to compromising? "And since I pay the bills and own the apartment", he couldn't help but try to justify his decision. Why did he feel like he was somehow stepping out of line? "We're going to start following a daily schedule."

Tick looked at him, his frown firmly in place.

Stuck to his face.

While the one-sided agreement unfolded just as clumsily as would a wadded up ball of tissue paper, below the crime-fighting duo, lurching past their feet, Speak padded across the floor in a disconcerting, almost mesmerized state, its eyes wide and wet, staring into the emptiness in front of its face. Tick picked it up off the rug, though the sickly creature continued to wiggle its stubby legs, seemingly taking no notice to the fact that its paws were no longer making contact with solid ground. He set it down on its side, laying the capibara on his lap and stroking its scruffy, mangled fur. "Fine." he said, though in a tone that stated otherwise.

The silence that followed was more than nigh awkward.

"Um..." Arthur fought the urge to twiddle his thumbs. "Well..." He made another attempt to shrug off the abnormal lapse in conversation, but his 'well' failed and fell to the floor, sharing the unfortunate fate of his recently passed 'um'. Arthur noted how much he was beginning to dislike the tackiness of the ellipsis. He'd try to make a point of not using it as much in the future.

Initiating a casual chat was not at all the moth man's natural forte'. It seemed that being socially inept since childhood kind of had that effect on people. Finally, excepting the unfortunate fate of their conversation, he brought his hands up into a sort of finalizing clap. Pushed up from the couch, he wandered off towards his bedroom, hoping to escape this ever growing awkwardness for the night. "I guess I'll go make up a schedule, then." Hopefully, things would be a little more casual in the morning..

"Of course. That's what the people in white do best."

Arthur faltered in his own steps. Curiously, he glanced back over his shoulder, though as far as he could tell, Tick had yet to even move, much less speak.

What Arthur thought he heard hadn't made the slightest bit of sense to him. "Did you say something, Tick?"

The arachnid didn't respond, but merely continued to mindlessly stroke that homely rodent of his, all the while staring blankly off into space. This, in itself, was not at all unusual behavior for the jolly blue giant.

The moth man shook his head, ruffling his antenna and deciding, perhaps out of convenience, that he must have imagined it. After all, he heard that sleepiness sometimes brought on hallucinations, and it was already half an hour past his bedtime. Half an hour of sleep deprivation was significant enough to bring out hallucinations, wasn't it? He'd better hurry off to bed.

As the bunny look-alike shambled off to sleep, a schedule, or some other obscure act in doldrums, Tick continued to run his hand over the capibara's greasy, wiry fur. Frazzled memories running rampant in his skull, Tick found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the past that he tried so desperately to forget. His ever careful, mindfully gentle petting became just the slightest bit rougher, more forceful.

The change in pressure, albeit insubstantial, did not go unnoticed.

Speak groaned with sympathy.


End file.
